


The Stars Are Wishing On Us

by GroupASubject_05 (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sex, The Great Game, alley way snogging, honestly, so so much gay sex, tgg retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/GroupASubject_05
Summary: After deducing that the Vermeer painting is a fake, Sherlock looks up on the walk home and sees a shooting star. he makes a wish. He wishes for the love of John Watson and, who knows, he just might get it.





	1. When You Wish Upon A Star

**Author's Note:**

> After deducing that the Vermeer painting is a fake, Sherlock looks up on the walk home and sees a shooting star. he makes a wish. He wishes for the love of John Watson and, who knows, he just might get it. This week I had an idea for a fic and I wanted to get it put up before the Great Tumblr NSFW Purge of December 17th. It has not been proofread yet, so please let me know if I need to fix any mistakes!

The wind caught the curls of his inky black hair as he looked up past the buildings and the noise to the glowing silence of the dark heavens lit here and there by luminous stars. Stars which were, as he learned on his last case, quite important. He had received a text which led him to look into the murder of an unidentified body that had washed up on the east bank. As he had quickly deduced from the man’s outfit – standard issue uniform with an identification patch that had been ripped off which indicated that he worked somewhere easily recognizable perhaps a museum or an art gallery – and the alarm that had been set on his watch, the man was a night time security guard at an art gallery that had been about to reveal an old masterpiece allegedly done by Vermeer which was worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. Whoever who had arranged for the poor man’s death had payed handsomely to have an internationally infamous assassin called the Golem dispatch him. After a few missteps an an unexpected encounter with the Golem himself Sherlock had solved the case by getting the curator at the art gallery to admit that it was a fake. However, it had also required Sherlock to prove that it was a fake by pointing out that Van Burren supernova was only visible in the 1850’s and thus could not have been painted in the 1640’s. So, while an astronomical amount of astronomy was not necessarily necessary in his line of work it would appear that it was warranted. Not that he’d ever tell John that of course. He couldn’t very well have his friends head swelling up from his meager and frankly largely unnecessary knowledge of the solar system. He loved John and in brief minutes he’d even admit it to himself before he squelched out that sentiment put it in a box and hid it in some remote corner of his mind palace, but he could never bring himself to admit to John when John was in fact right about something that should have been Sherlock’s area. People and medicine – those were John’s areas but, science and chemistry and deduction those were Sherlock’s realms and it hurt him not simply to admit when he was wrong but to admit that John with his greater knowledge and greater knowledge of people and sentiment it oddly tainted Sherlock’s feeling of victory to have been so wrong and to have known that without his superior ability to retain odd knowledge like the odd spewings forth from a slideshow in a museum he would not have been able to save the life of the young boy who spoke with him on the phone.  
Sherlock inhaled the crisp looking up again to the mighty heavens just in time to see a shooting star fly past him far above his head as it burned its path through the night sky. Unwanted, a thought burned itself through his head not unlike how the star above burned through the night – Make a wish! It was stupid. It was silly. It was horribly sentimental. But, he chose not to care, “ I wish for courage,” he thought. Then an odd longing pinged its way through his chest as his blogger and flat mate looked at him with eyes dancing with life and mirth, “I wish for John.”  
“I thought you didn’t care enough to look up at the stars.” John teased and jostled at his shoulder playfully. “Sentiment’” he mocked lowering his voice and turning up his coat collar to impersonate Sherlock who scoffed at him. “I don’t have to know all that there is to know about them in order to appreciate their beauty.”  
“Oh, really?” he asked it like it was a question but his eyes told another story. His eyes said that he was being dared. He was being challenged. John was trying to force him to admit that stars and thus sentiment were important. If it were anyone else on the face of the planet male, female, Sherlock would think that they were trying to flirt with him. But, this was John and as John himself tried to tell anyone who would listen, John was not gay!  
Sherlock opted to defend his previous statement, “I can appreciate their beauty without knowing everything about them,” Sherlock defended. “Besides, it was a shooting star.”  
“Oh,” said John in a sing-song voice, “ it was a shooting star…did you wish on it?”  
Sherlock knew that blood was rushing to his face; he could feel his heart beating faster, could sense that his pupils were dilated as John punctuated his question with a an iniquitous lip lick his tongue sliding slow, tracing the edge of his lips. His body was betraying him. Sherlock gave his lips a self-conscious lick before gasping out a whispered yes. God this is embarrassing. He wanted to sink to the dirty ground of the trash covered alley but, John just raised an eyebrow at him an amused look creeping across his face and tugging up at the corner of his mouth shaping it into a goofy half grin. “The great Sherlock Holmes with an international reputation of harsh, rational thoughts and reasonable deductions displaying a bit of sentiment? Wishing on a shooting star? What is this world coming to?”  
John’s eyes danced giddily over Sherlock drinking him in through his eyes since the detective was to distracted by whatever was going on within his own head. He marveled at his height and dark hair, his sharp cheekbones and even the flexibility and grace that seemed to flood his limbs even on the rare occasion where his brain slowed down and didn’t allow him to move like right now for instance. As he looked at him John longed to touch him. To cross this invisible and yet insurmountable wall that stood between them. From the day that they’d met in that laboratory at St. Bart’s Hospital, John had fallen for him. He’d tried to talk to him that first night at Angelo’s but Sherlock had claimed to be married to his work and so John had backed off unsure of how to handle all of the feelings that he now had for Sherlock, John buried his feelings deep inside of himself and had since then done his very best to be the best friend and blogger that Sherlock could ever ask for. He’d done quite a good job of it too hiding how much he wanted to kiss him after a midnight run through London hot on the heels of some gang or murderer. But now the pale light shining down on them from above those feelings surged upward through him yet again unbidden and unwanted. John took a step closer.  
Sherlock’s brain scrambled John was looking at him – really looking at him seeing and observing. He knew. John knew what Sherlock felt. How could he not? It was written all over his face the love the hurt and the pain painted across his features totally recognizable. Even if John was a great idiot – which he wasn’t John was incredibly smart; he could read the signs. Wide eyes, sweaty palms, and the way his pulse point jumped beating faster with a every second - his traitorous vessel told a secret that he was not yet ready to share.   
Terror skittered its way through Sherlock’s magnificent brain. The look in John’s eyes as his met John’s and were instantly locked together told Sherlock everything that he needed to know. In that moment he knew that he wasn’t the only one throwing caution to the wind. John’s eyes said that he had seen Sherlock’s innermost desires and wants and wanted to share them. Part of Sherlock wanted to run to flee from this moment and its sentiment and intimacy but another greater part of Sherlock wanted to stay and see what happened next. And so Sherlock stood there dumbly waiting to see what would happen next. John stepped closer. Nearly chest to chest with Sherlock blocking an exit on the part of the latter with his choice of a standing position. With half his body he blocked an easy escape thus Sherlock dismissed any thought of slipping past John and out of this dark alleyway while his stance declared that he was still an ex-military captain and could make Sherlock stay put. But yet, he still seemed to lean in towards Sherlock as though craving the touch of the taller man. Sherlock, who had already been close to the alley wall before their current exchange felt caught, cornered, and petrified. He couldn’t get past John and his military training if he wanted to, which he didn’t since John’s body was so close that he could feel the heat radiating off of him in waves. Sherlock simply gave up. He clearly wasn’t going anywhere.  
Stepping closer John placed his right hand on the spray-painted alley wall next to Sherlock’s head. It took far more strength than Sherlock currently cared to admit to keep from letting out an audible gasp at the movement. He could feel John scrutinizing him now taking in every detail of his face. With a drawn out lip lick that was more theatrical than anything else, John finally finished the line of questioning that currently had Sherlock feeling hot and uncomfortable. “What did you wish for?”


	2. What did you wish for?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tells John what he wished for and Mycroft makes an unwanted appearance...

“What did you wish for?” Sherlock barely contained a whimper as he watched how John had carefully licked his lips before pulling his lower lip between his teeth and biting down gently. He was sure that he was going to go absolutely crazy with John here and so close to him. They were mere inches apart. If he focused he could feel John’s hot breath dancing across his neck, he could smell the sweat and adrenaline radiating off of him so warm and oddly sensual mixing with his own crisp and cool scent that was starting to smell saltier from his own sweat and something else. Oh, god! He was half hard already and john was so close to him. And he knew. Damn it! John had to know what this was doing to him.  
“What did you wish for?” John repeated, his breath ghosting over Sherlock as he spoke. Sherlock closed his eyes and willed himself to be strong. He was really being quite silly about this. After all, he’d faced an assassin with an international reputation mere hours before without even the slightest fear but now, facing John, considering the possibility of telling him how he felt about him? Sherlock was terrified. Taking a deep breath to steady himself he closed his eyes and willed himself to have the courage he’d wished for not more than five minutes ago. Had it really only been five minutes? It felt like he’d endured centuries of torture and longing just in the last five minutes!   
“Courage,” he whispered, “ I wished for courage.” Opening his eyes was an agony but he did it. He pried them open and looked down straight into John’s upturned face. That’s when he noticed that his eyes were dark and his pupils were blown wide and both of their hearts were beating dangerously fast.   
Sherlock thanked the stars for giving him this image - he would file it away in his mind palace for later. The look on John’s face gave him the courage to forge ahead and say the words that he so desperately wanted to. “I asked for courage and you.”  
Sherlock couldn’t gauge the reaction on John’s face. That might have had something to do with how tight he’d squeezed his eyes but he couldn’t bear to open them. Couldn’t bear to hear John say, “Not gay.” Because his eyes were closed he didn’t see John stand on his tip-toes. Because his eyes were closed he didn’t know that he was going to be kissed until John’s breath spread across his. Then, he was enveloped into the velvety warm heat of his flat mate’s mouth.  
Their lips touched and for a brief second neither moved, neither wanted this to be a mere dream. Then John remembered who he was – Three Continents Watson and all that - and bracing himself against Sherlock he pulled the taller man down and into a hot bruising kiss. It was a bit chaste at first all soft lips and gentle hands but they both wanted so much more. AS John kissed Sherlock he licked at his lower lip sucking on it and begging to be let in. Sherlock opened his mouth to him with a moan and their tongues joined in this lavish dance pushing against each other stroking and searching out the other’s mouth in an increasingly desperate fervor. John’s hands found their way into Sherlock's curls and he found that gently tugging upon those inky black locks earned more moans from Sherlock. Meanwhile Sherlock’s right hand cupped the side of John’s face and he gently stroked his thumb against his cheek while his left roamed across John’s arm and neck and back before settling on his butt and giving it a slightly less than gentle squeeze.   
They continued to search out their pleasure in each other pulling them close and kissing them deep until their lungs burned from the lack of air and their heads felt light from oxygen deprivation. Sherlock was the first to pull back panting for breath. He pulled back and rested his head on John’s shoulder drinking in the sweet scent of John as he panted for air. John laughed and patted at the back of Sherlock’s head. “So, have you figured it out, you insufferable git?”  
Sherlock pulled back a bit so that he could face John. “Figured what out?” John giggled and rolled his eyes high on excitement and endorphins. “My sexuality, you lovable idiot! Not gay, remember?” Sherlock’s brain kicked into overdrive. Not gay? But he just kissed me! Well, his brain helpfully provided, John has kissed women too… Wait! Bi! John is bisexual! “You, John Hamish Watson, are bisexual.” Sherlock declared. “Took you long enough to figure it out.” “Well, in the spirit of being fair, I was a bit distracted by you kissing me up until a minute ago.” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you for weeks now.”  
Sherlock blinked dumbly. “You’ve been trying to tell me that for weeks?” “Of course I have. Hell, I thought you figured it out that night at Angelo’s and just didn’t want me!”  
Sherlock’s confusion continued, “You tried to tell me at Angelo’s?” “Yes! When I asked whether or not you had a girlfriend or boyfriend. I thought you had figured out that I was bi and liked you and you just weren’t interested. Married to your work and all that.” “Oh,” said Sherlock feeling oddly at a loss for words and incapable of any odd or witty comeback. He blinked a few more times, “I…I…I didn’t realize that that was what that was. I thought you were simply discussing pleasantries and engaging in regular conversation.”   
“Of course not! I was trying to tell you that I was interested without having to come out and say that I was interested. I guess I kind of thought that you could read it off of me like you could read my military history and my drunken sister.”  
“Well, I’m not perfect. I did think that your sister was in fact your brother and obviously I was wrong about that.”  
“True,” he agreed. Then his eyes took on a mischievous look, “but, now that you know that I’m bi and we’ve gotten our breath back, let’s get back to the kissing.”  
“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, “ the kissing is good!”  
Sherlock looked like he was planning to say more but John silenced him by claiming his lips again. As they kissed, John slowly eased his kisses to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth before planting open mouthed kisses across his jaw and just listening to the lovely sounds tumbling from Sherlock’s beautifully beguiled lips. He nipped and nibbled at Sherlock’s earlobe and pressed soft little pecks all on his neck until he found a sweet spot right along where Sherlock’s neck and shoulder met. Sherlock groaned as John pressed his lips to the spot and began to lick and suck at his skin. He moaned again as John’s intent became clear – he was going to be marked, claimed wanted. John’s industrious tongue continued to lave at that sacred point biting and sucking a beautiful bruise into Sherlock’s flawless white skin. While John did this Sherlock began to mutter John’s name like a prayer or mantra until all that he could hear was Sherlock whispering his name over and over and over again.   
Finally, satisfied that he would be leaving a very visible mark on the consulting detective’s neck, John pulled back and looked back into his detectives lust clouded eyes. Sherlock’s eyes glowed with all the intensity of a man who had just been snogged senseless in an alley by the great love of his life. As John continued to look he could have sworn that he saw the stars reflected from high above in those deep beautiful eyes. And that just made him crave the love of this great man all the more. He already knew that he was truly, madly in love with Sherlock Holmes. He’d known for months really. But now, having kissed him, having heard his name moaned in that rich, deep baritone he knew that he wanted everything. He wanted to fuck Sherlock senseless until the only word that he could say was “John.” He wanted to kiss him goodnight, he wanted to ruffle his hair while he peered through a microscope. He wanted to take him to fancy restaurants and flirt with him in public. He wanted this crazy, genius man to be his always and forever. But, for now, he’d settle for just getting to taste those beautiful lips again and the wild look dancing across Sherlock’s face seemed to say that he agreed. John grabbed at the hand that Sherlock had been absentmindedly carding through John’s hair and pinned it above his head. Standing lightly in his tip-toes he reached for Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock bent down to meet him and they kissed each other greedily. “Mine,” John whispered swirling their tongues together. “Yours.” Sherlock agreed latching on to John’s tongue and giving it a suggestive suck. John let go of the hand he’d pinned above Sherlock’s head and grabbed for Sherlock groping at his ass as he pulled him close, “Mine, mine, mine, all mine.” He breathed pulling him close as the heaviness of their cocks found each other. John shoved upward causing delicious sparks up and down their cocks. He had all but shoved his hand sown the back of Sherlock’s pants massaging his ass as Sherlock did more or less the same to him when a self-conscious cough sounded behind them startling them apart.  
“Well,” said Mycroft in an accent peppered with disdain and propriety. He stood about six feet away in a tan suit with a deep blue tie and he leaned heavily on his preposterous and yet ever present black umbrella, “this is certainly not the sight that I expected to see this evening. My, my brother dear, it would seem that I’ve caught you and the good doctor in rather a compromising situation. “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Sherlock gets his wish!<3


	3. The Rage of a Thousand Suns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft is a bit of an annoying git...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you go on strike from Tumblr for a day, you have time to work on updating your fics! Let me know what you guys think of it so far! :)

Mycroft stood silhouetted dramatically beneath the streetlight looking incredulous. Sherlock glared defiantly at his older brother. And John had the presence of mind to wonder exactly how long Mycroft Holmes had stood their posing preposterously and watching the show before he had decided to butt in.  
“I was only here about three minutes before mmhm… things escalated to the point that I thought it necessary to intervene.” Mycroft stated in response to John’s unasked question. “Contrary to my little brother’s frankly self-centered belief that I watch him every second of every day, I actually spare time to run the affairs of the entire United Kingdom as well as a decent portion of the rest of the world. I was in fact duly shocked to see you pressed against the wall when I came to congratulate you on catching the Golem, dear brother.”  
“Oh, so we’re being benevolent and witty now, brother?” Sherlock scoffed. “ You knew exactly what you were intruding upon. I know that you have minions tasked with keeping tabs on all of my movements; ‘compromising situations’ and all.”  
Mycroft appeared to have been ignoring Sherlock’s little rant in favor of examining the end of his umbrella before looking up with a fake smile plastered painfully tight across his arrogant face, “Of course I have ah, how was it you put it? ‘Minions keeping a tab on you and your compromising situations.’ It is in both of our best interests that you and Dr.Watson do not make front page news tomorrow with your long anticipated relationship upgrade.”  
Sherlock’s eyes rolled of their own accord and for a brief minute John worried that they would get permanently stuck in the back of his head. But, after a moment, they came back around so that they could again glare at poor Mycroft with the heat and displeasure of a thousand angry suns. “Are you sure that you are not simply trying to avoid a teasing at work tomorrow, Mykie?”  
Mycroft’s politician smile faltered a bit and he looked genuinely perturbed at the use of such a childish nickname, “I am trying to protect your precious international reputation from being dragged through the mud when you and John have sex in an alleyway.”  
John’s eyebrow shot up, “Alleyway sex, Mycroft? You really are feeling quite inventive tonight. Is all the stress from running the world finally getting to your head?” It really was a bit of a lame come back but Mycroft Holmes was really getting on his nerves. He and Sherlock were grown men! They could deal with their horniness on their own, thank you very much! There was no real need for Mycroft to worry.  
While John had been busy justifying his statement in his own head, Mycroft had wasted no time at all, “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you weren’t seconds away from getting down on your knees to give him a blow job?” Mycroft asked his voice pointed.  
John felt himself blushing all his blood rushing up to his face the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment. However, Sherlock – thank god – didn’t miss a beat. “Actually,” he said glairing at Mycroft his voice thick with defiance, “as I’m sure it did not escape your notice, we were a bit more lenient toward frottage this evening.” John wanted to melt down into a puddle of sticky gunk and grime like the others that coated the alley. What really had happened to him? What was he doing? Just this morning he’d started out by following Sherlock to a crime scene then watched as his bloody arrogant flat mate and D.I. Lestrade had bickered like schoolgirls over a dead body. Then he’d raced around the town in search of clues before nearly dying and then Sherlock finally solved the case before some poor youngster in a bomb vest got blown to who the hell gives a damn! And then somehow - through some weird quirk of nature - he and Sherlock had crossed what had only yesterday seemed like some great insurmountable boundary and had kissed and were now in a kind of no-man’s-land where they decided what they were to each other and where they wanted to go next. And as if it was meant to be the icing on the cake of his day; he was now listening to the Holmes’ brothers discuss sex positions in public places. Dear, god! What had he gotten himself into?  
“Furthermore,” he heard Sherlock say as he pulled himself out of his own head and tuned back into this weird reality, “we were planning in heading somewhere more private before we continued ah…umm…whatever it was that we were planning on umm…continuing…”  
Mycroft continued to glare and thankfully something flipped inside of John and Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers took over, “Right, look here you bloody power rich pain in my ass of a protective older brother. While I do not appreciate you spying on us – we are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves – we bloody well get your point. Now,”  
At this point Mycroft opened his mouth as though he had something to say but John shook a finger and his hair quivered angrily, “No! You listen to me you bloody self-absorbed git! Whatever you were about to say to defend yourself does not make spying on us any more ok! We are two grown men who while not perfect are entirely capable of taking care of ourselves and, as it turns out, we were just on our way back to Baker Street. So, you can take whatever British Government shite you were about to spew at us and shove it up your ass! We are going home! And I suggest that you turn off any visual and audio surveillance that you have of our flat as I intend to spend the next couple of days making up for lost time and giving your beautiful brother all the amazing sex that he deserves!  
As John found himself huffing from the force of his rant it was Sherlock’s turn to wish that the ground would swallow him whole. For his part Sherlock didn’t have much use or knowledge for social conventions and constructs, but he was pretty sure that the last five minutes or so violated all natural boundaries between you, your brother and your significant other. Sherlock wished to shrink and John glared defiantly all righteous anger and military posture. It was actually quite hot and, had Sherlock not been supremely aware of Mycroft’s proximity he was quite certain that he would be incredibly turned on by just the look on John’s face. Meanwhile, Mycroft acted as though he was impervious to John’s glare and picked at an invisible piece of lint on his suit’s lapel. Then with a sigh that spoke of late nights and long suffering when it came to his brother’s escapades he fidgeted with his cufflinks, “If you had let me speak before Captain you would have known that rather than spending this whole evening discussing yours and my brother’s sex lives: I was planning to offer you a ride in one of my private cars back to your residence. Although, in the light of certain events, I feel the distinct need to state that there is to be no snogging or sex in the backseat. I entertain very important guests in those seats and I cant have you ruining the upholstery.”  
“I’m not getting into your bloody government owned vehicle of…” Sherlock started having been startled from his stupor only to have John clap a hand over his mouth effectively silencing him before taking Mycroft up on and thanking him for his offer. With a smooth smile John said, “What he’s obviously trying to say is that we appreciate the offer and will gladly take you up on it if the offer still stands.”  
“Wonderful,” Mycroft beamed picking up his brolly and giving it an artful twirl. He must’ve practiced that in a mirror, John thought. “Now that we’ve got this all sorted and are again thinking like the grown men that we are, I’ll be on my way back to my own division.”  
“You’ll be on your own way? Did you change your mind and decide that you wanted us to have it off in some dark corner or maybe the Tube after all?”  
Mycroft forced himself not to pinch the bridge of his nose – Sherlock had made a suggestive comment about this habit, something along the general lines of “You know, you look just like Lestrade when you do that.” just last week. “Dear god above, grant me patience with my dull brother. I still plan on ensuring that you receive a ride back to your flat seeing as I have no intentions of finding half-nude pictures of the both of you gracing the front page of Metro or Standard tomorrow.” Mycroft stated all of this in a business like matter of fact manner as though he were discussing a government budget or raising the minimum wage. “However, at the exact same time, I do not wish to be present for whatever form of defilement you two choose to participate in this evening. So, quite naturally, I arranged for us to depart from here in two separate cars.”  
As if on que, two sleek black Audis pulled into the cramped alley dimming their lights as they came to a stop a few yards away. When John thought about it he considered that maybe there had been some sort of que and he had simply missed it, Whatever the case, the instant the cars stopped, a woman hopped out of the backseat of the first car. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek French knot and she wore a trim black knee length dress and sensible looking shoes that John was sure cost more than the next three months of his flat share. She stood at the door of the car holding it open with her hip and never once looking up from her blackberry as her fingers flew across its keyboard with an impressive speed.   
“It would seem that my ride has arrived. I suppose that we shall have to save all other petty grievances that you might have with me for a later date.” Mycroft turned to get into his car then seemed to remember one last thing of import, “Oh,” he said his lips curling up into a disdainful smile, “Please wait till you get to Baker Street to ‘get it on’ if you will. I’d hate to have to be the one to explain why there is cum on the seat cushions to her majesty.” And with that petty remark he disappeared into a car that then disappeared down an adjoining alley and carried on off into the night.  
“Well,” Sherlock observed, “ tonight has been quite the adventure. I’m gay, you’re bi, we’re both excellent kissers, and my brother is a bloody annoying git with a power complex.”  
John shrugged, “What else is new?” “Not much,” Sherlock conceded, “now, tell me are we going to heed my brother’s warning about sex in the back seat?”   
“Oh, god, no! I honestly would pay to see him try to explain away the presence of cum on the seats while the queen is sitting across from him.”  
Sherlock threw back his head and laughed, “Let’s go defile that back seat then, shall we?”  
“We shall!”


End file.
